


Blue Willow Skye

by NotSoSecretlyAUnicorn



Series: THERE WERE EXTENUATING CIRCUMSTANCES!  CLASSIFIED ONES! [1]
Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Episode: s04e05 No Pain No Gain, F/M, Fluff, Kid Fic, Pete is not so secretly twelve, Pete needs his own warning tag, SUDDENLY SPAWN, Sorry Not Sorry, Willow Skye, also never Google image search 'placenta', hysterical run-on sentences, possibly unrealistically fast birth scene, semi-graphic birth scene, this is not my fault; my enabler lives with me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1795057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSoSecretlyAUnicorn/pseuds/NotSoSecretlyAUnicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a moment of eye contact fraught with mutual terror and then a contraction crested and Myka tipped her head down and snarled all the vile, unspeakable things she was going to do to Pete’s person after this was over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Willow Skye

**Author's Note:**

> So. That episode. I'm pretty new to the fandom and undoubtedly there is a ton of fics centered around that episode and it's big fat full-term 'what if', but this is the clusterfuck that invaded my brain after watching it two weeks ago and here we are.
> 
> I have no one to blame but Not_So_Secretly_a_Spaceship.

 

_Part One: Ta-da!_

 

The world ended not with a fiery bang, or even a pathetic whimper, but with a flash of totally ineffectual purple sparks.

If by ‘world’ you mean ‘lack of responsibility for other, significantly smaller human beings’.

“Got it!” Pete crowed, unaware, “We got it, Mykes, we got -!”

Cue scream of agony from Myka.  Pete looked up to see his partner going down on wobbling legs, holding her still distended stomach and crying messily between howls of pain.

_Oh God oh God oh God oh God –_

“PETE!”

Galvanised into action, he leapt forward and got an arm around her waist.  She gripped his other hand with both of hers and he led her back to the car.  “C’mon, mama, backseat, more room.”

“Don’t call me that,” Myka ground out, and then ground the bones of his hand together for emphasis as another contraction hit.  “Oh God, you are a dead man.  Get me to a hospital.”

“Um, don’t really think we’ve got time,” said Pete, taking his life in his hands.  “I mean it all happens pretty quick after the water breaks right?”

He helped her ease down onto the backseat and put his hands on her bent knees, peering anxiously at her face. 

Myka let out a long low groan.  “But drugs,” she said, just this side of a whine, “I need drugs, so many drugs, all the drugs, Pete!”

This was backed up by another contraction and a bit of enraged screaming and handfuls of upholstery very nearly ripped out of the seats.  Pete suddenly had the kind of vibe that meant they weren’t getting their deposit back on this rental car.

“Pants,” Myka gasped when she’d gotten her breath back.  “Help me get my pants off.”

“Oh man, these are not the circumstances I ever thought I’d hear that phrase in,” Pete muttered, wretchedly, but fumbled about under Myka’s borrowed shirt and carefully drew her ruined pants down her legs, followed by the heavy hockey shirt, shoes and…

“I promise not to look,” he said, eyes piously on the ceiling as her panties were discarded on the car floor.

“You’re going to have to,” Myka said, eyes flinty behind the welling tears, “you need to see how…how dilated I am and then you’re going to have to catch the,” she swallowed hard, “the baby.”

There was a moment of eye contact fraught with mutual terror and then a contraction crested and Myka tipped her head down and snarled all the vile, unspeakable things she was going to do to Pete’s person after this was over.

Pete looked down (only a little to keep from smiling) and was confronted with Myka’s delicate little ladybits doing their damnedest to form an exit for something the size of a football.  He felt briefly dizzy, but braced himself with a hand on either of her spread knees and put on his serious business face.

“Okay, Mykes, it’s uh, looking pretty open down here and… holy crap, I think I can see the top of the baby’s head.”

Myka wheezed, but braced herself up on her elbows, tucked her chin to her chest and said, “Feels like I need to push.  I’m going for it.”

“O-okay,” he squeezed one knee, “I’m here, go for it.”

Myka went for it.  It wasn’t like all the dramatic roaring and wailing that you saw in TV and movie birth scenes; Myka didn’t have the breath for it.  Instead she was going violently pink in the face, all muscles clenching down, all of her intense focus brought to bear downwards.  Pete looked down and knew the meaning of the phrase ‘crowning’ in a new, personal way; he could now see the crown of the baby’s wet scalp pressed up against the door of Myka’s body.  Below them, the back seat was sodden with blood and sweat and other fluids Pete didn’t want to think too hard about.  So he carefully reached down and said, “One more big push for the head, Myka,” and got ready to start catching.

One more big push and the head came free, alarmingly purple and squashed looking.  The kid was facing down – “Is that normal?”  “Yes.”  “Really?”  “Pre-med, Pete!” – so Pete did his best to keep the little guy from smothering on the edge of the wet seat.

“Okay, got your breath back?  Another big push for the shoulders?”

Myka nodded.  “Yeah,” she said still gasping.

“And then…I guess we’re home free.”

Myka pushed, went pink again and there were a lot of awful wet sounds and gush of more fluids and then Pete pretty much had a baby in his hands.

He stared at it – at her, at her wet, squashy face, all red, with the grumpy Neanderthal forehead that all newborns seem to have – and it suddenly occurred to him that she was the most wonderful thing he’d ever clapped eyes on –

And also he was pretty much a dad.

The blood roared in his ears for a moment and he hand to used one hand to brace on Myka’s knee again.

“Hey,” she said, wagging her knee to get his attention.  “The cord, Pete, you’re going to need to cut the cord and tie it off.”

He blinked at her.  “I – what?”  Then looked down at the kid.  “Oh, right.  Uh, hang on…”

Myka rolled her eyes at him fumbling one-handed in his pockets and made grabby hands at him.  “Give me my baby, Lattimer.”

“Right!  Sorry!  Here,” he said, handing her over.  “You um, have a daughter, Mykes.  Congrats.”

Myka made a face at him, but the new wave of tears kind of took the punch out of it.  Pete watched her cradle the little girl to her chest and coo, “Hi, you’re not how I saw my day ending, but you’re pretty cute…”

The baby made several indignant noises and flailed weakly against the twin cushions of Myka’s breasts.  The whole picture was pretty fascinated for a variety of reasons…

“Got my pocket knife and one of your hair ties, will that work?” Pete asked.

“You are not using an unsterilized knife on our baby’s ubilical cord, Peter Lattimer,” Myka said without taking her eyes off the kid.  “There’s probably something we can use in the cabin.”

“On it,” he said, getting up… and then had to hang onto the car door fighting a headrush and shake feeling back into his numb legs.  “Man, this childbirth gig is rough.”

“Pete,” growled the mama bear in the backseat.

Myka was making another less-than-happy face.  As he watched it morphed into a you’re-a-dead-man-Pete face with a touch of how-is-this-my-life?

“Myka?”

“Placenta,” she said.

“ _What?_ ” Pete said, voice rising a few totally manly tones.

“Augh!” responded Myka, and then the backseat was irreparably ruined forever and ever as something gooey and meaty and _bag-shaped_ squished out of Myka and covered the seat in a fresh wave of gore.

“Are you _dying_?!” Pete wailed.

“No,” Myka said irritably.  “Just wait for the cord to stop pulsating and then tie it off, okay?  We’ll cut the cord when it’s gone white.  Now rub my stomach to help stop the bleeding.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

+++

After the belly rub Pete was exiled to the cabin to check on Mike while Myka gave the rugrat her first meal.  He helped Mike onto a bed –

“That’s a lot of blood,” Mike said, looking pale.

“Relax, it’s not mine and no one died,” Pete told him, and called an ambulance, plus back-up to take care of Judy.  He found a pair of yoga pants in the cabin’s master bedroom and took them for Myka.

He found her in the front passenger seat, sweaty and tear-stained and with wild sticky hair, but still stupendously gorgeous and justifying his terrible totally secret crush all over the place.

“No more pulse in the cord,” she said.

“Yay?” said Pete, and then helped her into the pants so they could relocate to the kitchen for sterile implements, Myka carrying the baby in both arms and Pete walking beside her with the placenta, close enough to keep the cord from going tight.

They found string and scissors in the kitchen and rubbing alcohol in a first aid kit under the sink.  Myka watched him like a hawk as he cut two pieces of string and knotted one around the cord three inches about the baby’s belly and then tied the second two inches above the first.

“This thing is pretty tough,” Pete muttered, nervously eyeing the delicate being sleeping a hand’s breadth below his scissors as he sawed at the umbilical cord.  “Are you sure she can’t feel it?”

“No nerve endings there, Pete,” Myka murmured, eyes ticking between the baby’s face and the scissors.

“Right…  Okay, got it, all done.”  He looked down at the placenta, sitting in the plastic bag that had previously held the myriad of snacks Myka had demanded from the gas station.  “What now?”

Myka gazed tiredly at him.  “I need a shower.  And a sandwich.”

“And medical professionals,” Pete added, smiling.

Myka closed her eyes and smiled too.  “Is Judy still unconscious?”

“Out like a light and hogtied on the porch.”

“Yay,” Myka said dryly.  “Mike’s okay?”

“In the guest room.  Found some painkillers in the bathroom for him and the ambulance is on its way for both of you.  And cops for Judy.  How ‘bout washing up all ‘round and then I can work on some that sandwich?”

Myka nodded and Pete got to his feet, ditching the scissors in the sink and stowing the placenta in one of the empty crisper draws in the fridge for further medical scrutiny.  Myka had had a look at it and declared it whole, so that was one less thing to worry about –

“Pete?”

He turned around to see Myka gazing down at the baby girl.

“Hasn’t really sunk in yet,” she murmured without looking up.  He cautiously knelt beside her.

“Yeah, I know.  Hasn’t for me either.  I mean,” he reached up and traced one gentle fingertip from the cap of dark hair down the tiny forehead to the matching button nose.  “Magical artefact inspired baby.  When do you ever see that coming?”

She looked at him then, eyes wide and afraid.  Whispered, “What are we going to do?”

“…okay, don’t get mad or anything, but first we need baths and sandwiches,” that got him a rueful smile, “and then we need to call Artie.”

+++

“Now what?” Artie demanded.

“Shhhhhhhhh!” Pete hissed wildly.  “She’s sleeping!”

“Who, Myka?”

Pete wordlessly turned the Farnsworth towards the makeshift crib (read: wooden draw) where the little girl lay sleeping…well, like a baby.

When he turned the screen back Artie looked pale even for monochrome.  “Pete, _what did you do_?”

“Why does everyone assume this is my fault?”

“You made a baby!  Of course it’s your fault!”

“By accident!”

“That’s how nearly all babies are made!”

“Shhhhhhhhhhh!”

Artie glowered but continued in a whisper, “Myka’s text said you bagged the artefact.  What went wrong?”

“We don’t know!  We bagged the dog-tags but then Myka was still in labour and, uh, ta-da, baby.”  He grinned.  “She’s cute, though, right?  I think she might have Myka’s nose, and her hair.  My hands though…”

“Pete, focus!”

“Sorry.  Look, everyone’s okay, they’re putting Mike in the ambulance now.  We’re gonna follow in one of the cop cars – EMTs said they’ll just wanna check her out in case she needs stitches and any prescriptions.  Plus, uh, we kinda need to fill out a birth certificate for…y’know.”

Artie sighed the way that meant his life was hard, so hard, and all your fault, and then said, “Fine, fine, just get home safe.  We can ask Mrs. Frederic if she’s heard of anything like this when she and Claudia get back.”

“That’s gonna be a fun conversation,” Pete muttered.

“Don’t I know it,” Artie growled, followed by the screen going dark.

Pete saluted anyway, “Kirk out.”

Myka emerged from the living room.  Her hair was still damp and Pete silently cursed his expert eye for once again discerning her lack of bra under the borrowed shirt.  “Time to go.  How’d Artie take it?”

“Like a grumpy great uncle on Christmas morning.”

“Grumpy great uncle Artie,” Myka said, smiling.  “Has a ring to it.”

Pete grinned.  “I know, right?”  He watched as she carefully extracted the little girl from her nest, wrapped her in a blanket and tucked her close in her arms.  As she went to leave the room, he added, “Hey, Mykes?  Speaking of names…”

She looked momentarily thrown.  “Pete, I don’t know, I mean…  Obviously this wasn’t something I was thinking about.  At all.”

“No, I know, this wasn’t really how any of us saw our day turning out.  But, I brought it up ‘cause I, um.  I thought of one.”

Myka smiled, looking down at the kidlet and then back up at him, stepping closer to him until they were only separated by the little warm body between them.  “Yeah?”

“Well, yeah.  I mean, I kinda like Willow Skye.”

Myka’s face went slack with surprise and she breathed, “Willow Skye… Like ‘The Blue Willow Sky’?  You want to name her after my dad’s book?”

“Yeah?  I – if you don’t want to…”

“No!” She smiled again, one of those slow ones that was like a second sun rising.  “No, it’s pretty.  I love it, Pete, it’s a great idea.”

He shrugged, all cheerful smirk and faux modesty, “I have those sometimes.”

+++

Claudia charged him the moment he got in the door

“You made a baby?” she demanded, grinning.

“Yeah…”  Pete said.  “Why are you smiling?”

“I’m an aunt!  I get to be Auntie Claudia, right?  Hey,” she called over her shoulder, following Pete into Leena’s living room, “Hey, Steve, you get to be an uncle!”

Steve popped in from the kitchen, eyebrows climbing his forehead.  “Uh, what?”

“Wait,” Claudia wanted to know, “does this make Artie a pseudo grandparent?  Yo, Grandpappy Nielson!”

“ _What_!?” was the distant bellow of outrage from the solarium.

“We were actually going with Great Uncle Artie,” Myka put in and she stepped through the open door with Skye bundled in her arms.

“Oh my god, that is _perfect_ ,” Claudia crowed.  Steve was staring, gobsmacked, at Skye who was somehow serenely sleeping through her noisy Warehouse family.

Artie arrived in the living room with Mrs. Frederic, who managed to look both terrifying and amused without any apparent use of her facial muscles.

“Oh well done, Agent Lattimer,” she said peering at the little pink face peeking out of the purple blanket.  Pete couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not and decided to give her the double thumbs up anyway.

“It’s a step up from the last time one of you made an unfulfillable wish,” Artie said.

“Why,” Steve asked, “what happened last time?”

“Remember when you asked where Pete the Ferret came from?” Claudia said, dabbing her finger into the palm of Skye’s to watch her tiny fingers close like a chubby sea anemone.

Leena chose this moment to emerge and murmured, “May I?” holding out her arms.

Myka grinned and the two of them managed to make the transfer of sleeping infant from one set of arms to another look graceful, like a ballroom dance instead of an awkward prom shuffle.

“Oh, Myka, she’s perfect,” Leena cooed, and the two women led the whole lot of them out into the solarium.  “I love looking at babies’ auras – like a cloud of fireflies, all innocence and potential.  It’s very soothing.”

“There’s nothing of the artefact about her?”  Mrs. Frederic asked, so casually that Pete wouldn’t have thought anything off it were it not for the kick-in-the-gut vibe that it triggered.

“Not a whisper,” Leena said without looking up. 

Mrs. Frederic caught Pete’s worried gaze and smiled.  “Very good,” she murmured, so quietly he was sure he was the only one who heard it.

“Mrs. Frederic,” Myka said, “I meant to ask, does… does something like this mean…?”

“You are Warehouse agents, Ms. Bering,” Mrs. Frederic said.  “The fraternization regulations are rather different.”

“Oh!  I didn’t think – I mean, we never – there was no – um…”

“Arrangements have been made,” Mrs. Frederic steamrolled on.  “Your daughter is unique, but you are not the first Warehouse agent to have a child, nor the first to acquire one in the line of duty due to the influence of an artefact.  There are protocols in place, though… we have done some modernisation.”

“Modernisation?” Claudia piped up.

“Well, unless you _do_ want a wet-nurse…?”

“Um, no thank you.”

“Pass!”

Mrs Frederic smiled.  “I thought so.”

“So,” Claudia said, “what’re these ‘protocols’ about magical artefact babies?”

“As they are acquired in the line of duty, the state takes partial responsibility for their on-going care and aids their parents in meeting their needs, as well as maintaining the parents’ position in the Warehouse should it still be wanted,” Mrs. Frederic reeled off, then cast an enquiring look at Pete and Myka.

Pete looked at Myka.

Myka looked at Pete.

“That sounds…great, actually,” Myka said, smiling hesitantly.

“Groovy,” Pete put in.  “Wait, does this make her a trustfund baby?  A _government sanctioned_ trustfund baby?”

“…Indeed.”

Pete waggled his eyebrows at Myka and scooped up Skye.  “Hear that, precious?  Auntie Irene’s got you all covered; you get to go to the faaaaancy schools!”

Skye peeled one dark eye open, made that cute little grimace that wasn’t actually a legit smile and farted noisily.

There was a brief pin-drop silence.

“Forget the paternity test,” Steve said.  “She is definitely your kid.”

 

+++


End file.
